


Peace in the Darkness

by kaeorin



Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [17]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Forehead Touching, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: The reader comes home from a mission just in time for a nasty headache to knock them on their ass. Loki notices and comes to offer some help. (I don't specify the reader's gender in this, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I did personally imagine them as a woman while writing.)
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1050788
Comments: 19
Kudos: 207





	Peace in the Darkness

If it had to happen—if it ~~absolutely~~ had to happen—you were glad that at least it happened when it did.

You’d been overseas for the last several weeks, a long string of warehouses and dark alleys and shady meetings broken only by the occasional firefight or uncomfortably-close call. In a way, it was honestly kind of a miracle that this hadn’t happened sooner. Missions had a way of wreaking havoc with your eating schedule, so if it wasn’t questionable street food, it was typically nothing. And that’s not even taking into account the injuries you sustained in your inevitable close calls and firefights. Logically-speaking, this should have happened way sooner. But some unknown, benevolent force had kept the pain at bay until you could afford to be knocked on your ass.

Your head was splitting. 

It started with a dull ache on the flight home. Those were never particularly comfortable, so you did what you always did: grit your teeth and tried to find the least-painful position in which to sleep. It wasn’t until you were trudging through the most familiar corridors of the Tower that the sensitivity to light started to kick in. Even as your eyeballs threatened to melt out of their sockets, you kept your head down and made your way to your suite. 

Blessed, blessed darkness. You tried not to wince at the sound of your bag dropping to the floor and gently guided the door shut behind you. The worst of these headaches lasted no more than a few days. Three, at the most. You could hunker down and wait it out. Summoning every last shred of energy you could find in your battered body, you made your way to your bed and laid down. Not much longer now.

***

Someone was pounding on the door. It jerked you out of that hazy doze that you’d only just slipped into. You sat up far too quickly, and had to bite back a groan. You could feel your heartbeat in your head. The waves of pain washing over you made your stomach churn. For several long moments, you forgot the pounding on your door in favor of simply trying not to vomit on the carpet. 

It was miserable, you told yourself, but ultimately it was a good sign. Past experience told you things only got this bad when you were more or less in the middle of the worst of it. Not much longer now. You could get through this. But first you had to get the door. The pounding was sickening.

Somehow, you slogged your way over there, and braced yourself for a moment before you opened the door. Despite that, the light still cut straight through you. Your stomach tightened again and you felt your knuckles go white on the doorknob. If you threw up now, not only would the pressure likely cause your head to literally explode, but you’d also be throwing up directly onto...Loki?

You blinked a few times, perhaps cartoonishly attempting to clear your vision. But the person standing in your doorway was, in fact, Loki of Asgard. It was hard to make out any of the finer details of his face, but something about his stance, or maybe the shape of his eyebrows, made you think he looked concerned.

“Are you well?” His voice was blessedly soft. Somewhere in your aching brain, you knew that it had little to do with you, but you were still just “off” enough to want to weep with gratitude. “You’ve been up here nearly two days.”

“It’s...a migraine,” you said, and attempted a dismissive wave. You worked with people like Captain America and Black Widow and a little headache was enough to knock you on your ass. “I’ll be fine.” Your eyes were slowly adjusting to the light from the hallway—it was no longer making you want to die, at least—but it was hard to ignore the way the room seemed to swim around you.

“Have you eaten?” He took a halting step forward, as though he’d started it without meaning to and wasn’t sure how to stop. His interactions here were usually awkward at best, but in the last few months, you had noticed that he was growing just a little more sure of himself, at least when he talked to you. Right now, though, it was as bad as ever. “You mortals are such fragile things.”

You laughed once, and regretted it immediately. You pressed one hand to your temple, hoping to ease some of the pain with the pressure. “Say that to me again in a few days, I’ll show you how fragile I am.”

“I look forward to it.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. You hated that he looked so uncomfortable. Was there some way for you to allow him to leave without making him think you pitied him? Probably not. “Until then, can I bring you anything?”

This time you knew better than to laugh, but you couldn’t keep one corner of your lips from curling into a half-grin. “Are you volunteering to serve me, Your Highness?” If anything was going to make him turn tail and retreat, certainly it’d be that remark. Loki, for as much as he’d changed since taking up residence here in the Tower, was still...Loki. He did not really look after others. 

“For another few days, perhaps...” He looked away, down the hallway just outside your door. “You really should eat.”

“I will,” you promised, and your voice almost sounded strong enough to be convincing. “Soon. I’m almost at the tail end of...all this.” You gestured vaguely to your head. “A few days. I’ll show you.” 

He nodded, still without making eye contact, and took another step backwards. That seemed rather like an ending, so, a bit reluctantly, you ducked your head and closed your door. It was nice, being back in the darkness, except now it was...somehow lonely. You pushed the thought aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tightly around your head.

***

The next thing that woke you was not pounding, but a quiet clatter near your bed. Someone standing too close muttered something under their breath and set something aright. You froze. It was still dark in here: you could barely make out their outline, let alone enough details to figure out who this visitor was. They were hunched over your nightstand. There was a tray sitting there that you didn’t recognize.

“I have a weapon, and it’s pointed directly at you.” It wasn’t giving away your position. They’d come into your room. They knew you were here, and they also knew that, just a short time ago, you’d been dead to the world. Probably if they meant you any harm, they could have done it while you were asleep but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“It’s me.” They didn’t straighten or turn to look at you. Some trace of amusement in their voice told you that they didn’t quite believe your lie. Fine. There was a click in the darkness, and a flame flared to life. Loki lit a tiny tealight that he’d set on your nightstand. “I’ve brought you a few things.”

He stepped back a little, then, and in the dim light of the candle, you could make out some of the items on the tray: a bottle of painkillers, two bottles of water, an oversized mug with steam billowing out the top, and a small dish of crackers.

“I brought the candle so you could see while you ate. If it’s too bright, you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, pulling yourself into a sitting position. It was quite a bit more than fine. He’d gone to the trouble to gather all these things for you? Did people get migraines on Asgard, or had he done research on his own? “Loki… Thank you.”

“Of course.” Absently, he picked at the skin of one of his fingers. It was a little surprising, how intensely that simple movement made you want to reach out and take his hand. Instead, you focused your attention on your own hands, twining your fingers together in your lap to make sure they didn’t do anything of their own accord. After a few more moments, he bent down again to lift the tray off of your nightstand and offer it to you. “Here. That’s just broth. Maximoff said it might be easy for you to eat. I thought it didn’t seem like enough, so there’s crackers, if...” He let the sentence trail off in a way that, in anybody else, might have seemed self-conscious. Meditatively, you touched the surface of one of the crackers with just the tip of your finger. If your brain felt any less like a flaming bowl of jelly, you might have gotten stuck on the idea that he’d put so much thought into the tray, but...not right now.

“Thank you,” you mumbled again. It felt like there was so much more to say, but your tongue was heavy.

“Eat.” He took a short step closer to you and gestured towards the mug. Almost on instinct you lifted it to your lips to take a careful sip. He seemed satisfied and fell back again, but didn’t stop watching you. Your second sip was just as careful, but a little uncomfortable.

“If you’re going to stay, would you maybe...sit down?” You looked up at him. His brows were heavy as he studied you. “You’re kind of looming.”

Perhaps that was the exact right thing to say. Loki’s face softened somewhat, and he looked around as though looking for a seat. After a few moments, he seemed to give up and perched on the edge of your mattress. You continued to sip in silence for a little while, before the sounds became too much for you. You put the mug down.

“One more request?” you began hesitantly. “I feel weird, uh...eatling like this. Could you maybe...talk to me? So it’s not just...” Feeling exceedingly ridiculous, you mimicked the sound of your slurping, and then immediately ducked your head.

Loki made a sound that seemed a lot like a laugh. “It’s cute,” he said. Instantly, you could feel him stiffen his shoulders. You kept your eyes averted to give him a little bit of privacy. “Besides, there are countless realms in which slurping is considered a compliment.”

“Does that include Asgard?” You were skeptical. You’d never heard him slurping anything at mealtime. It almost seemed unthinkable that someone like him would ever do something so undignified. 

“No.” He adjusted his sleeves and still didn’t look at you. “That was not a custom there, but we had a few others that mortals might think just as odd.” And with that, he launched into an in-depth description of several intricate traditions from his home. He spoke of the place so gently, in a voice so full of love for his mother and, somehow, even his people, that it made your own heart ache with a longing for them. 

It wasn’t long before you had managed to finish all of the broth and most of the crackers. When he noticed, he leaned a little closer to you to take one of the bottles of water, open it, and thrust it towards you. “Maximoff said that water will help too. Just take it slow.”

You took a moment to imagine the conversation that might have happened. Wanda was easily one of your closest friends in the Tower, and you’d often caught her watching with a mysterious smirk as you interacted with Loki. It made sense to you, that she would have coached Loki in what to do to help you. The bottle was cold when you reached out to take it. It was a little bit jarring as you took your first sip, and maybe it was just the placebo effect, but you could have sworn that it did indeed help with your headache. 

“Thank you,” you said once more. “Really. I guess I really needed all this.” You gestured towards the tray still resting in your lap. “You didn’t have to do this, but...thank you.” 

“We’re a team.” His voice was soft but unmistakable. In an entirely different situation, you might have teased him about that—might have asked if he didn’t prefer to work alone or something like that—but there was something about the intimacy of being so near him in the dim candlelight that didn’t let you speak. He swallowed and squared his shoulders again. “You’d do the same for me.”

The certainty in his voice flattered you, to be sure, but you ducked your head. “I’d want to,” you mumbled. “I’d think about it. But I think I’d be too afraid of bothering you or making you feel worse.” His temper had improved by leaps and bounds over the short time he’d been living here with the rest of you, make no mistake about that, and (at Wanda’s urging) he’d even let you play with his hair for a time, but you were still a little...intimidated. “I’m not as brave as you think.”

Loki snorted at that. You had to laugh at such an undignified sound coming from someone like him, and the sudden pressure made your head throb in warning. You pressed the palm of one hand to the side of your head to try to lessen the pain. “Perhaps not, but you’ve got more heart than anyone I know. You can try to hide behind cowardice if you’d like, but I know it wouldn’t take you long until you were standing outside my door. I’ll bet you even have a recipe for chicken soup stored in that mind of yours.” His eyes were sharp as he looked at you, and though you would have liked to look away and deny the claim, you couldn’t. Instead, you felt yourself offer him a sheepish smile. In turn, a bright smile lit up his face. You were suddenly doubly grateful that the light in the room was so dim: you were reasonably certain that you were blushing. 

To distract yourself, and perhaps a bit in attempt to move away from this topic, you replaced the tray on your nightstand and pulled your legs up to your chest so you could rest your elbows on your knees as you rubbed your temples. The food and water had gone a long way towards making you feel better, but you weren’t quite out of the woods yet.

“There’s painkillers in that bottle there.” Loki’s voice was quiet again when he spoke. You nodded, but didn’t reach to take it.

“They don’t help. Or...they can, if I take them early on, but once I’m this deep, they don’t do anything.” You hated that you were letting yourself look this weak in front of him, but your body didn’t really give you any other choice. “It’s okay. It’s almost over.” Though you still weren’t looking at him, it wasn’t hard to picture the look of discomfort that would surely be on his face right now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay; I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing right now.”

He hesitated for a moment, but didn’t rise. “Would you like me to go?”

The safest answer was probably simply to lie to him, but that felt wrong. And, given who he was, possibly also stupid. But telling the truth felt similarly stupid. You went for a compromise.“I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay.”

He saw through your non-answer—he had to—but he didn’t call you on it. If anything, he seemed to re-settle himself a bit more firmly on your mattress. “I’ll go when you ask me to, is that a deal?”

You started to nod, but had to stop when your brain protested the jostling. “Deal,” you all but whispered. The knowledge that no one could force Loki to do something he didn’t want to do was a small comfort that you clung to. You had to assume that, if he was here, it was because he wanted to be—or at least because he was ~~willing~~ to be. 

It was hard to tell exactly how long the silence stretched between you. You had a tendency to lose track of time when you were preoccupied with something like this, and Loki didn’t often speak simply to fill a void. Still, his company was enough. Maybe it reminded you that there was a world outside your head, outside your pain. Life was still moving on without you, and that was another small comfort.

“I’d like to try something,” he finally said. “With your permission. Will you trust me?” 

You looked up at that. His words felt heavy, like maybe he was afraid to hear the answer. Was there truly any question about what you’d say? You studied his face in case he was building up to a joke or something, but he seemed earnest. “With my life. Don’t you know that?” The missions you’d been on together, the quiet moments you’d spent together here in the Tower. You knew his backstory, of course—it seemed that everyone in the world knew most of his backstory—but you also knew how he’d changed. You knew how gentle his hands felt against your skin, and in your hair. Of course you trusted him.

It seemed he hadn’t quite expected that answer, because his eyes widened a bit before he hastily looked away. Something like a smile threatened to curl the corner of his lips, but he tamped it down. “Well. It’s nothing as drastic as that, but...thank you. I’d like to touch your head. I know I run colder than you, and Maximoff said that sometimes helps.”

The way your stomach fluttered at the thought of him touching you again was unnervingly different from the way it had threatened to rebel earlier that day. It was...almost nice. You didn’t want to look too eager, but you did uncurl your legs so you could scoot a little closer to him on the bed. He leaned in to meet you and raised his arms to gently press his fingers to your temples. That blessed pressure returned to balance out the ache in your skull, but this time with the added benefit of his cool fingers. Without thinking about it, you reached up to close your fingers carefully around his wrists.

“Loki, that’s nice,” you sighed. “But isn’t it uncomfortable to be so cold all the time?” Already you were half planning a thank-you gift for him consisting primarily of electric blankets and fuzzy gloves.

“It has its perks.” His voice was lower than you’d heard it all day. When you opened your eyes to look at him, his were already fixed intently on your face. His brows, usually so severe and furrowed, were relaxed, and the wideness of his eyes gave him an almost innocent expression. Gently, he brushed his thumbs along your eyelids to close them again, and then let the chill from his skin seep into your aching eyes. “And I might also be using a bit of magic. Shall I assume the cold is helping?”

It was hard to form words. The best you could manage was a breathy ~~mm-hmm~~. Absently, you began stroking your thumbs across the undersides of his wrists. His skin was soft there. You could feel the tendons in his wrists shift as he stroked your face. His pulse was thrumming steadily just below the surface of his skin, and it pleased you to note that his heart seemed to be beating as quickly as your own. 

His fingers crept up into your hairline, pressing against your scalp, and sheer relief flowed from his touch. For as long as you’d been dealing with these headaches, you had never once considered that doing anything to the top of your head could help. He found a particularly tender spot, which elicited an involuntary moan from you. You might have pulled away if it weren’t for the comfort he was offering. In any case, it was a damn good thing that he was touching your hair, not your cheeks, because surely he would feel the heat of your blush. He laughed, low and rumbling in his chest, and somehow even that soothed you. He sounded pleased.

It was hard to tell what, exactly, was helping more: the temperature of his hands, which never seemed to get warmer even though you knew your forehead had to be damp and feverish from the pain; or the slow caresses that he smoothed over your forehead and cheekbones. The ache in your head lessened and, as it did, you slowly stopped fighting to keep your eyes open. It was hard to believe that you could slip into a doze with Loki so close, even touching you, but you did. When one of your hands dropped from around his wrist, he moved his own hands so that he was cupping your face. Something in his touch made you open your eyes again.

“Lie down,” he said, still in that same low voice. “Put your head in my lap. You’re falling asleep.”

Your cheeks grew warm again, and this time, going by the way he brushed his thumbs across them, he noticed. “I—that’s okay. You don’t have to keep doing this. Thank you.”

He pulled his hands away slowly now, and you tried to ignore that curious sense of loss. “Are you asking me to go?” He sounded exceedingly patient—and was it simply wishful thinking that made you think he also sounded a little disappointed? Of course you didn’t want him to leave yet, but admitting that out loud felt so selfish. All the same, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him ~~yes~~ and actually encourage him to leave. 

Perhaps he saw the struggle in your face, or perhaps he simply grew tired of waiting for an answer, because he reached to take your hand and guided you gently into his lap. He placed one cool hand back onto your forehead once you’d settled in, as though to keep you in place. When he looked down at you, there was something dizzying about the angle. You were in Loki’s lap. He was gazing down at you. You drew in a shaky breath, let it out.

“You’re never this indecisive in the field,” he said, amusement coloring the edges of his words. “Are you always like this when you’re unwell?”

For a single, frozen moment, the only words that would come into your mind are ‘You’re breathtaking’, but, using up every last ounce of luck that you would ever have on your side, you did not speak them aloud. Instead, you struggled to find a response that answered his question without sounding too pathetic. “I’m not used to interacting with anyone when I’m unwell, I guess,” you eventually managed. “I always deal with it on my own.”

He was quiet again for a few moments, long enough to lull you back into drowsiness. Then he twisted a strand of your hair gently around one of his fingers and sighed. “I suppose it would be disingenuous for me to tell you not to do that,” he mused. “Given that that’s precisely what I prefer to do.” You hummed in agreement and tried not to imagine needing to do this for him. Having his head in your lap, having free rein to explore the sharp angles of his face with your fingertips. You’d been having these thoughts for some time now, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly when they’d started. Right now, you just chalked them up to being wild ramblings of your tortured brain, and filed them away to deal with later. 

His thumb brushed tenderly across your lower lip. Before you could stop yourself, you were drawing in a ragged breath. You both knew ~~that~~ had nothing to do with your headache. After taking a moment to try to clear the desire from your features, you opened your eyes. He was looking at you with unabashed hunger. You fought the shiver that crept up your spine, and he touched your lip again, ghostlike.

“A few more days.”

It sounded like a prayer.


End file.
